


On beds of filth along the Armory floor

by KillTheDirector



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Person, M/M, Murder Husbands, Torture, fluff with a bloody aftertaste
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-26
Updated: 2012-10-26
Packaged: 2017-11-17 02:26:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/546625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KillTheDirector/pseuds/KillTheDirector
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I don't know how we came to be, but now as I watch you sawing off one of the men's limbs that Fatty Holmes sent, I find myself falling even more in love with you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On beds of filth along the Armory floor

**Author's Note:**

> I really don't know where this came from, but it's Jim thinking about his love for Sebastian, and BECAUSE it's those two, I had to make some bloody fluff.

Isn't it funny, dear, how humans work? 

Most of us seek out a companion or some sort of group in order not to feel alone in the world. Even those who claim to detest the human race (myself included) has someone; Sherly has his doctor, and I have my tiger. 

It's disgusting, really, the way we rely on each other. I know that once I die, you'll most likely end up somewhere in the gutter either drunk or with a bullet between your eyes; you told me so yourself that one night in Budapest. The skyline was on fire and the blues of your irises looked nearly electric. 

I know if you were to die that I would push all emotion out of my body. Like toothpaste from a nearly empty tube; I never thought I'd have admitted that to anyone, especially myself, but really I'm still human no matter how much I don't want to be. 

I don't know how we came to be, but now as I watch you sawing off one of the men's limbs that Fatty Holmes sent, I find myself falling even more in love with you. 

Love is a destructive and disgusting feeling. You and I started off as a distant employer to an equally distant employee; you really shouldn't have been so fascinating, darling. I wouldn't have noticed you, and now I wouldn't have to think about the repercussions that my little game with Sherlock will have. We moved on to being flatmates, then to casual fucking and then I said somethings that I probably shouldn't. 

It's been three years since then, but the sound of you slapping me still echos in my head. 

You glance up from the stump of the man's arm, blood spotted over your face and staining your hair; the cigarette hanging precariously between your chapped lips has gone out, which causes me to grin and toss the lighter sitting beside me over. The saw clangs loudly on the warehouse's cement ground as your hands reach out to catch the plastic contraption, and the snick of the flint is like a whisper. I watch as you suck in the nicotine infused smoke, releasing it with a grateful sigh. "You wanna take over?" You ask with a jerk of your head towards the passed out man. 

I lean forward and place my chin on my hands, letting my dangling legs kick out over the floor. "No no, I like watching you work." You snort, but the corner of your mouth perks in a tiny smirk and I swear you almost preen under my gaze once you pick the saw back up. 

I've told you my feelings a total of two times; the first when we had gone to America so I could set up contacts with the Italian and Russian mobs in New York. It had been New Years and stupidly romantic, and we were packed like sardines in Times Square; you had been trying to push people out of the way, lip curled in a snarl and I had just laughed and told you to enjoy the view as the ball came dropping down. 

_"Maybe once it reaches down, it'll blow up."_ I whispered in your ear, mouth lightly touching the cold skin. You rose an eyebrow and glanced up at the ball slowly descending. 

_"Did you rig it to do that?"_ The count down was echoing all around us, and I had to strain to hear your question; I laughed a little, and let out a soft hum. 

_"No, unfortunately. I don't want to stay in America because they're searching for terrorists."_ The countdown was reaching the teens, and let out a long breath, watching as it floated out in front of me. _"You know, at this moment I could say that I love you."_ I felt, rather than saw, you tense; wondering briefly if now wasn't the time (though we were in New York during New Years; isn't that the time when ordinary people normally told someone that?) I yelped loudly when a hand lashed out and struck me across the cheek. The crowd didnt' even notice, and the countdown was reaching single digits. _"Bastard! What did you do that for!?"_

_"Don't be an idiot, Jim."_ You hissed, expression hard to read. The ball touched down, and people began to cheer; you sighed roughly and grabbed me by my scarf, pulling me into a bruising kiss. At my confused expression, you lightly touched the red mark blooming across my face. _"You're supposed to kiss someone at midnight on New Years...even if they're completely insane."_

I sigh a little at the memory, and watch when the man gurgles something, blood bubbles frothing at a corner of his mouth. 

The second time I told you was in the previously mentioned Budapest. I had been causing a few political and religious disputes just for the fun of it, and went with you to watch as you took down a rather prominent religious figure. The city was being set ablaze by protesters, and the little hovel one of my contacts had set up for us was one of the only things untouched. 

It was ramshackle and most likely infested with rats, but the mattress thrown carelessly onto the floor was comfortable and my contact had made sure to set up a reliable wifi connection. One of the windows was blown out, and we could hear the squealing of tires and the shouts of protesters marching outside our door. I scanned the papers, especially the headlines exclaiming the title **_RELIGIOUS LEADER MYSTERIOUSLY KILLED. POLICE CLAIM RADICALIST MOVEMENT_**. We were unable to leave the country for a few more days because of it, but the chaos outside was delicious and very worth the traveling trouble. 

_"Ahh, this worked out so perfectly!"_ I laughed, sharply prodding your side; you lazily swatted at my hand, turning the page in whatever book you had decided to bring. The room smelt of stale cigarettes, pipe bomb smoke, and sex; I shuddered a little and bumped my nose against the steady thrumming of your pulse, one hand reaching out to snatch away the book. _"Pay attention to me so I can tell you what a good job you've done, pet."_

_"Not your fuckin' pet, you twat."_ The argument was old, and was laced with amused exasperation rather than bitterness. I moved smoothly onto your lap and allowed your teeth to clamp down on the hallow of my throat, sighing softly at the feeling of fingers brushing lightly over the notches of my spine. 

_"Yes you are. You're my pet tiger, and such a well behaved one...well most of the time."_ The teeth on my neck moved to my shoulder and I knew there would be bruises later. I twined my fingers through the hair at the base of your skull and tugged, prompting you to look at me. _"...what would you do if I died?"_ You blinked slowly, and there was the sound of an explosion further down the road; the light from the fires glinted off the shade of your irises and I wanted to gouge them out just to keep them forever. 

_"I'd end up in a gutter either too drunk off my arse to be any use, or with a bullet between my eyes."_ My mouth slowly curled with a large grin, and I ducked down to give you a quick kiss. 

_"Excellent answer, pet."_ You growled lightly, which only caused me to laugh. I kissed the tip of your nose and grinned a little wider. _"I love you."_

A huff of air escaped your mouth, and you rolled your eyes before pinning me to the bed. _"Not. Your. Pet...but I love you too, you tit."_

I hop off the crate I had been sitting on, and sashay up to you. I run my hand lovingly over your blood coated arm, and roll up onto my tiptoes in order to press a kiss on your crimson stained cheek. "Let's dump him in front of Fatty Holmes' place, then I'll let you have your wicked way with me." You hum in agreement, and make a face at the stumps of arms and legs flopped on the ground.

"Better call a clean up crew, I made a bit of a mess." I laugh and pull out my phone, dialing the number quickly and feeling my blood warm at the sight. 

"You've never looked lovelier though, dear." Your mouth curls at one side in a crooked grin, and you run your hands through your hair. 

"You think?" I grin and give directions to the clean up crew before hanging up and tugging you down by the collar of your shirt. 

"Oh yes. Now, let's hurry so you can make a mess of me." I see the blue of your eyes darken, and snort at the speed in which you hoist up the man's limp body. 

Yes, it's funny how humans work; if it were anyone else, I would have them killed long ago and dissected their bodies. I want to do the same to you, but instead of disgust and hate, I only feel that dull thrumming of love. I want to carve my name into your flesh and have you do the same to me, and I know you want the same. 

And as I watch you kick the man's body out onto the gates in front of Fatty Holmes' estate, I bite my tongue till I taste blood because I've never been more in love.


End file.
